In Sanity We Trust

Somewhere between a livestreamed sermon and a glitching newsfeed,

there are some who swallow misinformation as curdled fact.

Some of us gag on the pixelated gospel of lies

like communion wafers dipped in a fermented coagulate of algorithmic compliance.

Is there no firewall strong enough to burn off this fever of ignorance?

No patch to overwrite the punditry virus with the quiet code of reason?

But memory is a fragile archive. And here they come,

the self-anointed prophets with God in their pocket

and hell on their breath,

ready to reboot the Dark Ages in high definition.

Their sermons are TikTok tantrums,

their threats wrapped in scripture and congressional letterhead.

They speak in tongues of contempt,

their eyes lit by the dying glow of melted wax idols.

Their followers chant in the language of ash,

worshipping freedom as if it were a brand of gasoline.

They call it salvation.

We call it a slow-motion implosion of logic.

Tell me: where in the bones of the Constitution

does it say we must torch today to birth tomorrow?

Where is it written that hubris is holy,

that ignorance wears a halo if it votes red?

Only in the minds of those who mistake noise for truth,

who juggle shells and call it strategy,

who believe awareness can be conned like a carnival crowd.

But we remember.

We resist.

We rebuild.

In sanity, we trust.